Happy Lurlinemas
by Port-of-Seas
Summary: A look on the night of Fiyero's death, from Elphaba's POV. bookverse


Happy Lurlinemas

By PortofSeas

Summary: Wicked bookverse, really. Elphaba/Fabala/Elphie/Fae, whatever name she went by, it didn't matter. The night Fiyero was murdered, the night she failed, was the night her heart shattered.

Disclaimer: I never owned Wizard of Oz, nor the more recent Wicked. I have never owned any book, movie, soundtrack, or play about either. So why bother mentioning it?

Happy Lurlinemas

Elphaba stalked through the crowded streets on Lurlinemas, bundled up more to hide her green skin than from the cold. Beneath the scarves Fiyero had bought her, her face was twisted into a magnificent scowl. That old carp, as Glinda would have called her, Madame Morrible had escaped, all because of the coincidence of school children staying late for the holiday.

Her mission had been an utter ruin. Fae, as she was known by code, had now lost all credibility. Heated anger welled up within her. Once again, Morrible had ruined something for her. That woman so deserved to die.

Elphie climbed up the decrepit old stairs up to her room. In the dingy dust, she could spy footprints. Other footprints…

Through the darkness she heard Malky cry out, and the milky white cat padded toward her through the darkness. He was probably hungry.

"Malky malky mew mew?" she crooned, as she so often had. She remembered Fiyero had found her affection for the cat odd, but not overwhelmingly so.

She knelt down to stroke Malky's fur, and froze. Her heart lumped heavily in her throat, as her hand collided with something thick and sticky. Drawing away, she could see the blood that coated her fingers, a sharp contrast to her green skin. Alarmed, she checked the cat over, searching for some sign of a wound.

Not a one on the cat.

Where had the blood come from?

A sinking feeling welled in her gut and she dashed down the hall, the wretched cat whining behind her. Her door was already open.

With a shriek, Elphaba fell back against the wall, her knees shaking down to her thick boots. Fiyero lay, bleeding, on her floor, his eyes half closed, his mouth half open. Even now he retained the dignity of the Arjiki prince that he was.

She fought back the tears that burned like fire and fell to his side, pressing her fingers frantically against his neck, searching for a pulse she knew had long faded away.

"Fiyero," she choked, looking him over. He did not respond. Rolling him over onto his back, she ripped off his shirt, surveying the damage as calmly as she could in her panic. The elegant blue diamonds, his tribal markings she had always admired so much, were indiscernible beneath the bruises and welts that had risen up, iced in blood.

She ran her green fingers, stark in contrast against his skin, down his ribs. Every one was broken. And still not a response.

"Fiyero," she sobbed tearlessly, quivering as she touched his face. "Don't do this Fiyero you fool! I told you not to come! It's your fault you're hurt. You can't make this worse by dying. You can't leave me like this!"

Shakily, she knelt down and pressed her lips to his, frantically blowing the chilly winter air into his lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Fiyero's blood.

"No!" she shrieked, drawing back. "Fiyero, don't do this! Fiyero!"

She tangled her long fingers in her hair, squeezing her eyes shut her eyes, forbidding the tears that fought to escape. She wouldn't accept it. She couldn't.

Fiyero was dead.

It was her fault. It was because she hadn't told him anything. He never understood the danger.

He was dead because he cared for her.

"Fiyero," she sobbed, wincing as the fiery tears rolled down her cheeks, burning as they went. Her whole body shook. Outside the wind howled. Inside, Malky whined, upset that such a thing as Fiyero's corpse had invaded his home.

Quaking in terror, Elphaba stood, her eyes wide, her face screaming in agony for her tears. Fiyero was dead. Fiyero was dead. And there was nothing she could do to help him.

Shaking like the last lingering leaves of a bittersweet autumn long gone, Elphaba stumbled over to her drawers, clumsily digging through them. Her hands closed down on something hard and familiar. Her knife would serve a new purpose now.

Weeping from pain and grief, she tenderly brought the blade to her wrist, quivering. It would be so easy just to end it. She could already feel it scratching her skin. Just a little deeper and maybe, just maybe, if there was such a thing as souls and afterlife…

She wanted to see him again. So badly. She wanted to be with him again, no matter how many sins she had to commit to do it. Murder, adultery, suicide. Whatever it took.

"Fiyero," she whispered, his name playing in her mind like a mantra. _Fiyero, Fiyero, Fiyero…_

Despair and reason battled inside her mind, trying to choose the next course of action.

_Fiyero is dead._

_But I could live._

_There's no point in going on._

_There's so much I can still do._

_Look at what I've done in the past._

_It was for the sake of the right cause._

_It all failed._

_He loved me._

_He died because of it._

Frustrated, Elphaba shifted the knife to her other hand, pressing it down on her opposite wrist.

_It would be so easy._

_But what comes next._

_I could be with Fiyero._

_I could fade into nothing._

_I have nothing to lose._

_I have everything to lose._

_But what do I have to keep._

Elphaba bit her lip and dropped the knife, her shoulders trembling. She couldn't do it. Even now, when everything seemed lost, she couldn't take the plunge.

Bile rose in her throat. Elphaba turned back one last time, stealing a quick glance at his maimed body.

"I loved you, Fiyero," she whispered, before fleeing out into the cold Lurlenimas air. Ice and snow, dirty with mud and litter caked the sidewalks. Blood dripped from her wrists for a moment of two, before finally, her coat managed to soak most of it up. She couldn't tell if this was hers or Fiyero's anymore.

Off in the distance, there was a cheerful cry.

"Happy Lurlenimas!"


End file.
